


Honor

by klutzysurgeon



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Slavery, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzysurgeon/pseuds/klutzysurgeon
Summary: She cups the side of his face, runs her thumb across the scar tissue just under his eye. "Didn't it?" she echoes. He laughs back, quiet and humorless.For SaboKoa Week, 7/3 Scars/Past (former noble/slave)





	Honor

“Your hair’s gotten awfully long lately.”

Sabo glances up from his paperwork to see Koala bent over in front of his desk, elbows propped on it as she rests her head in her hands. “Are you growing it out so you’ll make a better  _ Lucy?”  _ she teases.

Sabo rolls his eyes at her, going back to his paperwork without any further response. He should have known she wouldn’t leave just because of that, though. She straightens up and perches herself on the edge of his desk instead, wood creaking slightly under her weight. “Or is it ‘coz you’re too busy to get it cut? That  _ is _ a lot of paperwork…”

“Koala, what do you want?” Sabo asks, setting the paper down. His fingers drum against the desk in agitation, though maybe it isn’t fair to blame that on her. He’s always anxious, lately, always moving, throwing himself into his work with more vigor than ever. It’s like two years ago all over again ever since meeting Luffy, a tangible reminder that there is something left which means there is something left to  _ lose— _

“Nothing,” Koala hums, innocent. “I was just curious. Hmm, if it’s not because of that, then… because it’s fashionable now? Ooh! Is it coz I mentioned once that I think long hair is pretty cute on guys?” she teases, and earns a huffed laugh for her troubles.

“You got me,” Sabo chuckles. “I thought the Revolutionary Army could use a poster boy. Think I can drum up recruitment if I make a cool enough pose? Those wanted posters always get my bad side.”

“Mmm… no,” Koala muses. “You’re too keen, your stare’s gonna scare everyone off.” She reaches a hand out then, voice gone quiet, gloved fingers brushing the hair away from his left eye, tucking it behind his ear. “This is why, isn’t it?”

Always straight to the point. It’s commendable as a trait for one of the leaders of the Revolutionary Army, but less than favorable in casual conversation. Sabo frowns, not meeting her eyes. “My hair’s always been long,” he deflects. It isn’t a lie, anyway; looking in the mirror to see neatly trimmed hair haunted him too much even when he didn’t have his memories, too much like the nobles he had vague nightmares of.

Now the only reminder he can’t get rid of, can’t grow out of, is the scar. A meaningless thing, once, burnt patch of skin from an injury. An inconvenience when he was ten and the wounds had to be dressed; a distasteful aesthetic when he was sixteen and trying to learn public infiltration; an itch at the back of his mind, some niggling feeling that it was something more, but he didn’t know, then.

He’s known for two years now, but he’s never let himself think about it until he met Luffy and saw a similar scar on his chest. So proudly displayed, the injury that almost cost him his life, from the same  _ worthless scum  _ that  _ killed _ their  _ brother— _

Too late, Sabo realizes he’s been quiet this whole time. Koala is staring at him patiently, waiting for a better answer than the weak lie he tried and really, her tenacity is an asset on missions but right now he thinks he hates it. “It’s not exactly a badge of honor.”

“Isn’t that for you to decide?”

Sabo does raise his head at that, staring at her in surprise. He’s never heard her speak so sharply before, not outside of training drills. It feels like a reprimand and he straightens up unconsciously, watches as she hops off his desk.  _ Panics  _ when she starts unbuttoning her shirt— “Koala? What are you—” but she ignores him, mostly, turns her back to him and lets the shirt slip down to pool at her elbows. It’s a simple motion for her to undo the clasps of her bra and then he’s met with the sight of bare skin, marked skin.

A slave’s brand, he thinks, given how marred the edges of it are, but it looks like an image overlapping another. The longer he stares the more it’s clear that not every edge is mangled, some smooth lines burned into skin alongside the uneven ones, but his mind can’t come up with any other explanations for a skin brand than slavery.

It takes several minutes— too long, really, seconds stretching on while he stares like an idiot— before he remembers, conversations overheard when he was younger, lessons from Dragon. The Sun Pirates, a group of Fishmen who would break into slave trading markets to free the slaves, rebranding all the members of their crew with their Jolly Roger so no one could differentiate between who was once a slave and who wasn’t. No discrimination, no ranking, just replacing a symbol of bondage with a promise of freedom.

Koala, joining the Revolutionary Army when she was seventeen and he was sixteen, taking up a position teaching Fishman Karate to the others within a year, learned from Fishmen themselves; from the Sun Pirates. He can’t believe he’s never thought about it before.

“It’s pretty, don’t you think?” Koala asks, looking at him from over her shoulder. The smile on her face is wistful, but no less genuine. “Well, maybe not to most, but I think so.”

“It’s…” Sabo tries, lost for words. “How old… were you…?”

“Eleven,” Koala laughs. “It’s odd, looking back, isn’t it? You don’t feel that young, when you are.”

_ Eleven.  _ He looks at the charred flesh and feels sick, hot and cold all over. He smells gunpowder, distant visceral memory. He remembers being ten, remembers plotting his escape with Ace and feeling invincible, the farthest thing from the small child he really was.

He’s twenty-two, now, and he still feels that invincibility sometimes, that surge of adrenaline that comes with thoughts of the Revolution, of Luffy, of Ace. Maybe he hasn’t grown up much. But— enough, enough to realize that  _ eleven  _ is so achingly young. “No,” Sabo says, words coming out slow like he’s forgotten how to speak. “I don’t think we ever do.”

“It’s not like they wanted to mark me,” Koala says. “I was just a kid, you know? I remember them talking about it, they felt so bad, even though I was human. But I begged them to, and Fisher said it was my choice.  _ “She was a slave,” _ he said.  _ “Are we going to take her choices away like they did?” _ ”

“Didn’t it hurt?” Sabo blurts. It’s such a stupid question, he wants to burn himself a hole right through the floor but she laughs, a soft huff of breath as she buttons her clothes back up and stands in front of him.   
  
She cups the side of his face, runs her thumb across the scar tissue just under his eye. "Didn't it?" she echoes. He laughs back, quiet and humorless. She traces her fingers down his neck, where she knows the rest of the scar is, and when he tilts his head away so that she can see it better she places a kiss to the pink scar tissue.

“I think it can be a badge of honor,” Koala says. “If you want it to be. Something like, _ “I survived,” _ you know? But it’s still fine to not want it displayed. It’s something personal. That doesn’t make it shameful.”

The scar tissue doesn’t have much sensation, but he swears his skin is tingling. His cheeks are hot and he dearly, dearly hopes they aren’t actually on fire— the Flame Flame fruit is, in all regards, a relatively new power and he’s burned through more clothes than he can count since they left Dressrosa.

“Awww, are you blushing?” Koala giggles. When her fingers find his face this time it’s only to pinch his cheeks and he’s scowling immediately, pushing at her arms with a groan.

“It’s your fault!” Sabo sputters, and maybe they’re still ten, eleven, but he turns his head to kiss her hand in retaliation, catches the back of it and presses one open-mouthed and wet to her glove and then she’s blushing too, yanking her hand back with an indignant squeak.

“Gross!” Koala protests, but she’s laughing and so is he, the serious mood dissipating all at once as she leans back against his desk to clutch at her sides and he collapses back into his chair, trying to muffle himself behind his hands.

His hair is still tucked behind his ear, and he knows that sooner or later he’ll feel that familiar urge to hide again, to cover it up, but; he thinks of it a little differently, now.

He also thinks that next time, maybe, he’d like to kiss her somewhere else.

  
_ (That  _ thought, unfortunately, is what finally has him catching on fire.)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I'm a litle late and a _lot_ uncertain about writing these two, but hey! no better time to practice than a whole weeklong event, right? please do check it out at the [event blog](https://sabokoa.tumblr.com/post/174922058376/sabokoa-it-has-been-so-long-since-the/amp) and see what other people have created, or hop in and join us!


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